


Reclusion

by heymacareyna



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Broken Family, Future Fic, M/M, Serial Killing, lots of misery and betrayal and stuff ideally, unhealthy noncon billdip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 21:45:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3625353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heymacareyna/pseuds/heymacareyna





	Reclusion

Sluggish and foggy, waking from a dream he’d been powerless to stop, Dipper felt the blood first. Still dripping in slow meter, it coated his fingers too well to provide much friction in his grip on the locked doorknob. As his vision returned, he scrambled to unlock it, but he froze halfway through.

He remembered.

He turned.

The twisted body was almost unrecognizable, torn with methodical slices. Bile rose in his throat when he saw the clumps of red hair ripped straight from the scalp, but he calmed a little when he saw a patch of fair skin untouched by freckles. _Not Wendy,_ he thought in a sigh of relief, and then he sickened at the realization that he had just been relieved at a butchery.

Thoughtlessly he wiped his hands on his shirt (though blood remained caked under his nails) and took a step forward, and he saw a mark on the girl’s slender neck. A forming bruise, spackled in a half-crescent. _No. No no no,_ he thought, maybe spoke. His legs began to tremble so badly he almost fell. _I didn’t—no._ But the love bite was too fresh for any other conclusion.

He forced his gaze away, dreading what else he’d done. Organs torn out like a bad dissection, tossed aside. One green eyeball had been gouged out and had somehow disappeared; Dipper blocked out thoughts of where he might have stored it. Both legs, in a macabre parody of hygienic fashion, had been shaved down to the gleaming meat.

Dipper’s face burned with shame. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing violently that this was only part of the dream. That he would wake up still twelve, still hopeful, still in control of himself.

But Bipper, in truth, had never been a dream.

When Dipper reopened his eyes, Bill hovered in front of him and tipped his hat. “Morning, kid.”

“Fuck you,” Dipper snapped, his voice as raw as the girl he’d ripped apart.

“Some hello.” The triangle shrugged this off, still basking in the afterglow of the possession and kill. “But if you keep being rude, I won’t be so nice next time.” One stick arm crooked toward the floor in a clear gesture: _Down._

Dipper’s pride burned against the idea of kneeling to win some points, but he wanted, _needed,_ to convince the demon. So he lowered himself halfway, his head bowed and fists clenched and shaking. “Stop. You have to stop doing this.”

Bill’s eye went red. “I don’t **_have_ ** to do anything.”

 _“Please!”_ Dipper burst out. “I need you to stop! This wasn’t the deal!”

The demon didn’t flame up, didn’t fracture his voice into discordancy. Instead he did something far worse—he summoned his go-to human form, the body of an otherwise braindead man in his late twenties, scratchy with stubble and a spray of dark blond hair. Today he wore a yellow and black three-piece suit, thankfully: some days Bill left him totally nude, just to see Dipper’s reaction.

Triangle Bill dissolved in the air, and the blond man’s golden eyes opened, the pupils elongated into rectangles. He blinked each eye once, the lazy blink of a predator with easy prey, and then spoke in Bill’s metallic voice. “You agreed to this, Pine Tree,” he pointed out. “You should have specified an end date. You didn’t. Which means that—” He pretended to think. “—oh, yeah. **_This IS the deal._ _”_**

Dipper glared through stinging eyes. “You’re just doing this because you know I hate it.”

Bill’s eyebrows jumped, and he came forward until he had Dipper backed against the still-locked door. The fit demon-man smelled faintly of cologne somehow, and though Dipper thought he betrayed nothing of the tingle in his groin, the smug glint in the golden eyes showed Bill knew regardless.

“That’s real cute, Pine Tree,” he said in his Cheerful voice, “but you don’t have to pretend for me.” He traced a line down Dipper’s cheek, ending with a tap under his jaw.

Dipper gritted his teeth, willing the warmth and tingles to dissipate, but when the contact broke, he had to stop himself from asking for just a little more. “I don’t pretend. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bill’s fingertips hovered just above the surface of Dipper’s neck, right over the colored lines of a tattoo. The tiny distance vibrated with electric heat. Dipper did not arch for the touch. At least that was what he told himself, though he almost sighed when Bill finally allowed the contact. “You do,” the demon corrected, the air of the words too warm too gentle against Dipper’s ear. “And what you hate, kid, is that you know you’re getting off on this just as much as I am.”

“I’m—” Dipper broke off with a hoarse gasp at the graze of Bill’s lips on the curve of his shoulder. Out of habit he moved one hand to cover his crotch, but a laugh vibrated through those goddamn lips. Bill knew. Even though it was only desperate craving for any contact at all, Bill knew. Dipper found his voice again (though it was deeper now, rougher). “I don’t. I _never_.”

“Oh, please.” The press of chest against his arm. A solid warmth that Dipper wished he didn’t need. “You love the control. You wanted this the whole time. You’re more of a monster than I am—at least I’m honest about it.”

 _It’s not true. Of course it’s not true._ But his resistance faltered under the guilt and, maybe, acknowledgement of the truth. “You’re trying to manipulate me,” he forced out. “It’s all you, you f—”

“Wow, thanks!” Bill yanked on his thick dark curls, delighted with the unintended compliment. “I’d _love_ total control of my stupid, durable puppet. But no, all I want is to take over Gravity Falls. Didn’t get it, obviously. So I’m here. But I don’t care about the redhead at all.” He made a point of looking at the dismantled girl. The red hair, the slender frame. “So, _hmmm,_ what motivation would _I_ have for trying to weed out this particular breed?”

Wendy. The reminder kicked the air from Dipper’s lungs. Before he’d separated himself, he’d been so _angry_. The _why why why_ pounded into his skull. Why him, why Wendy, why Mabel, why Grunkle Stan, why Grandpa Stan, why the books why Bill why Gravity Falls. People left and people died and people went on ignoring him like he was still twelve years old, and in the middle of the night when he stared up at the ceiling over his bed, he had wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to just… cut the others out of the picture. To go it solo, permanently.

And the next night he had watched his own body, a laughing Bipper, test just how hilarious pain could be when inflicted on someone else.

For a week afterward, he had locked himself in his room, determined that it wouldn’t happen again. And it hadn’t. Until day eight, when Bill made an uninvited guest appearance and played puppeteer once again. As soon as Dipper had his body back, he ran. Far and long and away from anyone else he might hurt.

“You’re the one with the problem, kid,” Bill repeated, sounding much too pleased. “Crazy little Pine Tree finally snapped. But at least so far you haven’t known any of them.” Fingertips on Dipper’s temple, a flash of mental power, and suddenly Dipper wasn’t seeing an unfamiliar dead girl. He was seeing Wendy there on the floor, her face ripped open, neck marked by furious teeth. Then Mabel, turned inside out and cast aside. A wordless scream tore through his throat.

The image disappeared, and so did Bill. But his voice echoed through the mindscape:

_See you later, kid!_


End file.
